


Friday I'm in Love

by Periwinkle39



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Jonsa Valentine 2020, Newspaper AU, jonsa, magnet letters, song inspired fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22725925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periwinkle39/pseuds/Periwinkle39
Summary: Short and fluffy work hijinks at the newspaper office where Jon is a reporter and Sansa is a photographer.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 37
Kudos: 93
Collections: JonsaValentine2020





	Friday I'm in Love

**Author's Note:**

> Eons ago, I was a newspaper journalist and so I drew on personal memories for this bit of fluff for the Jonsa Valentine event. Possibly the dorkiest thing I have ever written, but *shrugs* 
> 
> Enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day!

“HAPPY MONDAY” is the message that greets Jon on the refrigerator at work when he arrives and puts in his lunch.

“Features, am I right?”

Jon turns to see his friend and fellow reporter, Tormund, a tower of a man who is not known for his height only because he is known for his fiery red hair and beard.

Standing next to him is another fiery ginger, Ygrette. “Why are those bastards always so goddam cheerful,” she says as she steps up to the fridge and rearranges the letters to read, “FUCK MONDAY,” then walks off in a huff as if the message to be happy was a personal offense directed at her.

Jon moves out of her way as she leaves, but she doesn’t acknowledge him. Since their break-up nine months ago, she hasn’t said much to him, which he finds odd since she was the one who initiated it. He agreed that they weren’t right for each other, but the lack of drama about the whole thing seemed to have left her unsatisfied.

Thankfully, she’s covering sports now and their interaction is limited to the occasional awkward run-in in front of the fridge, like this morning.

Tormund laughs and steps up to the fridge as well. When he steps away, Jon sees that he’s changed the letters yet again to “LETS FUCK THIS MONDAY.”

“I see that the sexual harassment training had no effect,” Jon says as he pushes the magnet letters around obscuring the message.

“Well, you can’t just leave it saying nothing,” Tormund says.

“Fine,” Jon says. Scratching his head, he remembers the song from The Cure blasting at the coffee shop around the corner when he went in for his coffee.

MONDAY IS BLUE

“A regular fucking poet, Snow,” Tormund says with a laugh. “I guess that’s why you’re the awards guy.”

It isn’t “awards”—it’s one nomination. And yes, his mother might have made the certificate he was given her Christmas card. And yes, everyone around the newsroom references it, not to praise him, but to give him shit for having lost for his year-long investigative work uncovering a local political scandal, when the features photographer won in her category just for taking pictures of teenage punks.

Jon is always quick to point out that they were stellar images of young people struggling with addiction and the publication of them had successfully shamed the local city council into re-opening the group home from which they have been kicked out and doubling its funding, but nothing can pacify the decades long bitter feud between news and features at the paper.

(Which is why a certain news reporter and a certain features photographer have kept the ongoing hookup that began after the awards ceremony last month a secret.)

The feud has become all the more heated recently, after the editor-in-chief brought several packs of magnetic letters and put them on the fridge, having read some think piece from an online magazine about workplace communication and promoting “play” among employees. The letters are either used for messages of humor and hope (“the cheery bastards in features”) or profanity (“the cynical assholes in news”). 

* * *

After the morning editorial meeting, Jon goes back into the kitchen to fill up his water bottle and smiles. Someone has added words to his message on the fridge.

MONDAY IS BLUE

TUESDAY IS GRAY

He looks around and finding himself alone, he looks through the unused letters. He uses an upside down P for a D but the rest are there.

WEDNESdAY TOO

If Ygrette, Tormund or any of this news desk colleagues were to catch him now, he’d never hear the end of it, but he’s in too good a mood. On most days, yes, he’s a fellow cynical asshole, but ever since he and a certain features photographer . . . His friends will likely excommunicate him if and when they find out, but fuck if it hasn’t been worth it.

* * *

Three phone interviews and an unexpected press conference he has to run out to cover keeps Jon from eating the sad sandwich he brought for lunch until after 2 p.m. He’d have picked something up while he was out except he is curious to see the fridge.

And, well, there aren’t enough letters for the full line, another upside-down P makes for a D and upside-down Vs serve as As, but the gist is there.

MONDAY IS BLUE

TUESDAY IS GRAY

WEDNESdAY TOO

I dONT CΛRE ΛBT U

Jon contemplates the letters that are left. Few of the ones he needs, so he makes do with numbers. He doesn’t know this is _her_ , of course, but the sentiment is no less true, God help him, so he puts it up anyway.

1M 1N L0VƐ

He takes a picture. Just in case.

* * *

Story filed, voicemails returned, emails answered, it’s that time of day when the news desk is in transition. The night editors are settling in, copy and layout are working, though not frantically yet—it’s not close enough to deadline for that. Reporters and dayside staff are checking out, either to run home, to get the kids or deciding on which bar to get that post-work beer. Jon is still at his computer, trying not to draw attention to himself, after shaking off his cubicle mate Grenn’s pleas to come out and serve as his wingman. Soon enough, though, anyone who would notice is gone and he gets up, puts his backpack on his shoulder.

He walks toward the kitchen, the opposite direction of the exit, and notices that someone has scrambled the magnet letters and posted a new message.

GET A FUCKING ROOM

Jon laughs at this. _Here’s hoping_ , he thinks. Then, he heads down a hallway news people usually don’t walk down.

One of the reasons features people are so happy is that except on rare occasions, they don’t deal in the news side’s daily deadlines. They come in at 9 a.m. and leave at 5 p.m. It’s 6:30 now, so their wing is practically desolate except for one light that’s still on.

The photo studio.

Jon walks slowly, not trying to make too much noise, but not so quietly that he takes her by surprise. He smiles at the sign that’s been posted on the bulletin board next to the door.

“Congratulations to our very own, now officially award-winning photojournalist Sansa Stark!”

_Features needs better editors_ , is the last thought that enters and leaves his mind before he walks in and sees her looking at the back wall where she has taped up several proofs. She turns and sees him there, leaning against the door.

She smiles. “Hi.”

“Working late?”

She looks at her watch. “I guess 6:30 counts as late for me. I tend to lose track of time in here.”

Jon feels nervous. This is the first time they’ve spoken in the building. Everything before was that night of the awards ceremony, a series of booty call texts and ensuing encounters at his place or hers. Work hasn’t entered into it. Work might make it real, and he realizes now that he’s doing something risky. He goes for it anyway. He’s sure, weirdly so.

“Did you happen to see the fridge magnets today?”

“No, why? Did that Tormund guy proposition someone again?”

Jon chuckles and looks down, just a tiny bit disappointed. “No, uh . . . never mind. Are you almost done? Want to get dinner or something?”

“I kind of want to finish what I’m working on.”

The disappointment grows, but he won’t make a thing of it. If she wants to keep things how they are, then so be it. He’s an idiot, clearly, but not a pushy one.

“OK, well, good night.”

She bites her lip. “Good night, Jon.”

Jon wonders at the way she’s smiling now, like she has a secret, but with an awkward wave pushes off the doorway and turns to leave. He takes only three steps down the hall before he hears the music coming from the studio.

The Cure has never sounded so good.

When he walks back in she’s laughing and says, “Lock the door behind you.”

He does and she jumps into his arms.

* * *

_**Friday, I'm in Love by The Cure** _

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too

Thursday I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart

Oh, Thursday doesn't even start

It's Friday, I'm in love

Saturday, wait

And Sunday always comes too late

But Friday, never hesitate

I don't care if Monday's black

Tuesday, Wednesday heart attack

Thursday never looking back

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can hold your head

Tuesday, Wednesday stay in bed

Or Thursday watch the walls instead

It's Friday, I'm in love

Saturday, wait

And Sunday always comes too late

But Friday, never hesitate

Dressed up to the eyes

It's a wonderful surprise

To see your shoes and your spirits rise

Throwing out your frown

And just smiling at the sound

And as sleek as a shriek

Spinning round and round

Always take a big bite

It's such a gorgeous sight

To see you eat in the middle of the night

You can never get enough

Enough of this stuff

It's Friday I'm in love

I don't care if Monday's blue

Tuesday's grey and Wednesday too

Thursday I don't care about you

It's Friday, I'm in love

Monday you can fall apart

Tuesday, Wednesday break my heart

Thursday doesn't even start

It's Friday, I'm in love

**Author's Note:**

> Believe it or not, kids fridge magnets have featured at multiple places of employment for me, and lyrics from The Cure did make it on the fridge at one point.


End file.
